


take me to the lakes

by twilightstargazer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:40:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26691589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightstargazer/pseuds/twilightstargazer
Summary: Bellamy never gave much thought about his future, but never in his wildest dreams did he imagine it would be likethis.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 77
Kudos: 317





	take me to the lakes

**Author's Note:**

> started this after the crime was committed. as someone who mentally checked out of the show years ago i can't imagine how y'all must have felt so today i offer you a happy ending as kindling for your everyone hates jrot fire

He plants marigolds in the springtime. Hundreds of them through the season just so they could sprout during the summer and bring a wealth of gold and copper and brass tones. They have gardens surrounding the house, fruit trees and different kinds of vegetables sprawled through the backyard, medicinal herbs lining the sides, and flowers. Lots and lots of flowers throughout the front. 

Gardening isn’t something Bellamy thought he’d ever enjoy-- on the Ark dirt was a wistful dream and for the first few years on earth they needed to  _ survive _ which meant that planting daisies wasn’t high on the list.

But now, after years of pain and loss, too many sacrifices to count, too many scars covering their bodies, they’re here. They’re no longer fighting to just survive, they get to  _ live _ .

He grabs hold of a weed and yanks it loose, sprinkling dirt across his bare feet. Clarke always scolds him for not wearing shoes in the garden, yelling about tetanus and anthrax and botulism. He never takes her on. Bellamy never gave much thought to what dirt would feel like but after a few short years on earth, he has his answer,  _ cool and damp and like home _ .

Home, this strange, rickety house of theirs with its mismatched floorboards and shutters that swing open with the slightest gust of wind and the fence that has his and Clarke’s handprints on the gate. Their house with its funny looking gardens and overgrown lemon tree with branches that hang into their kitchen, right over the sink. Their house that Bellamy painstakingly built from the ground up, a year’s long labour of love, for their family.

It’s something he never thought he’d have.

He hears Clarke before he sees her, the soft plod of her feet against the damp soil. It’s only when the worn tips of her boots finally slip into his line of sight does he look up, can’t help but to grin at her.

“Hey Princess,” he says, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles.

She hums and brushes his fringe out of his eyes. He can’t help but lean into her touch. “Hey.”

“How was the clinic?”

She pulls a face. “Long. People always do stupid shit in the spring.”

“More poison ivy?” he guesses, and she rolls her eyes.

“Among other things.” Clarke takes a moment to survey him and he puts on his most charming smile. “You’re all dirty.”

He flashes her another boyish grin. “Thought you liked me like that.”

She yanks on his hair, hard, and he can’t help but laugh. “Come on, today was long. I wanna take a bath.”

Bellamy’s knees creak as he pulls himself up and she giggles. Clarke always makes fun of his old joints, especially since he isn’t even thirty as yet. It’s a side effect of being on earth he thinks, the result of all the falls and tumbles and injuries he’s taken over the past few years.

They traipse in from the garden together, fingers loosely linked. Bellamy stops to rinse the dirt off his forearms by the barrel of rainwater next to the porch while Clarke heads inside.

Their home is a collection of  _ things _ .

More books than they can count littering over every surface, tucked away on every shelf, old art prints that have faded with age hanging on every spare bit of wall, terribly carved animals that he made during his whittling phase and she didn’t have the heart to throw them out. 

They have curtains made from old reams of cloth they found on a foraging trip a couple years back, a garishly ugly orange and green pattern that Clarke brought home because no one else wanted it, and their couch cushions are a tie dyed experiment gone wrong. They have a throw made out of panther that comes in handy in the wintertime, handmade candles above the fireplace and sketches of friends pinned to the wall next to it. There’s a row of all tin cans on the windowsill in their kitchen with fine thyme and dill and bird peppers. And rosemary. Lots of rosemary. It’s always been Clarke’s favourite.

Bellamy made all the furniture and cabinetry, spending many a nights measuring and cutting and sanding wood, having Clarke pull half a dozen splinters from his hands at the end of each session. She tried to paint their kitchen bright green but the pigments were homemade and it ended up turning the colour of moss instead but he loves it nonetheless.

It’s part of the charm. Part of what makes their house a home.

In the corner, next to their makeshift home office, are their guns. His rifle propped against the wall and her handgun on the small corner table next to it, both of them out of bullets, both of them unloaded and unused for years.

He still checks them of course, every fortnight he could be found disassembling and reassembling them both, cleaning and checking each piece to make sure it’s in working condition, but Bellamy likes the fact that he hasn’t had to shoot it in years.

Clarke lightly checks him with her hip when he walks into the kitchen.”I already put the tub to full. Go get the fire going while I prep dinner,” she tells him, the vegetables already spread out on the counter.

“Bossy,” he shoots back at her, just because. Clarke whips the tea towel at him and misses, and he laughs before ducking down and stealing a kiss from her cheek.

He does get the fire going of course-- despite the warm, humid springtime air, the nights still have a bit of a chill in them and furthermore, Clarke just likes taking warm baths. She’d sit in the tub until the water’s gone cold and her fingers are far past pruney. He carefully places the smooth river stones into the heavy pot right over the flame before checking the tub in their bathing room. The day they were finally able to get running water in their actual houses was a day that everyone celebrated. Water pressure wasn’t great, but it’s much better than their previous options of river baths and collecting barrels of water.

Clarke’s still in the kitchen when he’s done with all of that, humming off-key to herself as she chops up some mushrooms. Bellamy comes up behind her, his hands holding on to her hips while he props his head on her shoulder.

“What are you making for dinner?” he asks as he presses his thumbs against that spot right above her hip bone, the same one that she’s complained about being sore these past few days.

Clarke sighs and leans back into him, allowing Bellamy to hold up most of her weight. “Well, we had some vegetables lying about so I figured I’d saute it with the kale Harper dropped off yesterday,” she says, dumping the pieces of fungi into a bowl. “And we still have some of Miller’s bread so we could have that with whatever’s left of the jerky.”

“Sounds good,” he hums, still working at her back, “But I don’t really want any jerky.”

“It’s all we have in the house. Unless you want to run to the kitchens right now.”

Bellamy hides his grin in the crease of her neck but she still feels it against her skin. “What. What did you do?” she asks, trying to turn and look at him but it’s made difficult by his hands holding her in place.

“Nothing.”

“ _ Bellamy _ .”

“ _ Clarke _ .” He can’t help but cave when he notices her little pout. “Go check the icebox,” he says, nuzzling her neck for half a moment before pulling back.

Unlike Clarke, Bellamy wasn’t rostered to work today, having pulled a 16 hour guard shift the day prior. That meant he had the day off and  _ that _ meant that he was able to sneak off to the creek and catch a couple fish, the same type that Clarke’s been craving for the past couple of weeks.

Her face lights up when she spots it, already cleaned and seasoned and sitting in their ice chest. She turns her head and his heart does something stupid in his chest when he sees the look on her face, his cheeks warming.

It’s been years, but he doesn’t think that he’ll ever get over the way Clarke Griffin looks at him, like he’s something special. A little bit in awe and a little bit of admiration and so much love that it always takes his breath away.

“I can’t believe you did this,” she tells him, closing the lid of the chest.

He gives her a half shrug. “You wanted it and I had time today.”

She crosses the kitchen in three quick strides and kisses him, dry and perfunctory. Her lips are a bit chapped and the suddenness of it gets a breathless laugh out of him.

“You didn’t have to,” she says, still leaning up on her tiptoes, nose brushing against his.

Bellamy squeezes her hips. “I know,” he agrees, “But I wanted to.”

Clarke grins at him again, wide and toothy, and steals another kiss. “I love you,” she tells him, like she does every morning and every night and at least a dozen times in between, and it always makes him feel like he’s floating. Always brings a smile to his face and a warmth in his chest.

“I love you too, Princess,” he says, tugging her back in and kissing her again, slow and deep until she pulls back, eyes dark and cheeks flushed.

He helps her wash and cut the rest of the vegetables and then leaves to see about the tub, dumping in the hot rocks so the water hisses and sputters, and then adds in a few drops of jasmine oil, a gift from the River Clan and Clarke’s favourite scent in the entire world.

They have candles in their bathroom too, gifts from friends and other clans over the years, and Bellamy decides to say fuck it and light some of those while he waits on Clarke to finish putting their vegetables to roast.

He’s already shucked his shirt when she finally comes in, and she makes sure to whistle at him while he rolls his eyes.

“You’re an idiot,” he tells her, even as he tangles his fingers with hers and pulls her close.

“I’m paying you a compliment,” she sniffs.

“Maybe you should pay me in kind,” he hints, grinning lasciviously while tugging at the hem of her shirt.

She laughs. “You’re such an ass,” she tells him, smiling, but she strips off her trousers, t shirt and undergarments anyway.

He’s seen Clarke naked more times than he can count at this point, but it still never fails to leave him speechless. Her body is soft and he’s mapped every curve and crevice first with his hands and then his tongue. He knows the shape of her hip and the dip of her waist. He knows the scars-- panther claws down her left shoulder, a puckered rough patch on her stomach left behind by an arrow, so many nicks and scrapes that’s just a consequence of living on the ground. And now he’s getting to know the soft curve of her stomach, new and growing.

His eyes can’t help but linger on it as he takes her in, almost imperceptible to anyone who doesn’t know, but like a shining beacon in the dark for him.

Clarke quirks a brow. “Come on, Blake, drop ‘em,” she says, tugging on a belt loop and he bats her hands away.

“I’m enjoying the view,” he shoots back at her.

“Enjoy the view faster, the water is getting cold.”

He snorts. “You’re so  _ pushy _ .”

She bares her teeth at him. “You like it.”

His hand skirts up her side, teasing the curve of her breast and trailing up her neck to cup her jaw before he steals another dirty kiss from her. “Yeah, I do,” he agrees before dropping a light slap on her ass.

Clarke squeaks and flashes a quick glare at him while he continues to smile serenely. “ _ Such _ an ass,” she reiterates as she gets in the tub.

The clink of his belt buckle is drowned out by a bark of laughter. “So you tell me every single day,” he says as he pushes his pants and boxers down.

“And yet you’re still here.”

He slowly gets in behind her in the tub, taking care to not slosh too much water over the edge. He drops a quick kiss on her bare shoulder and pulls her into the vee of his legs, her back to his chest. “I must really love you.”

Clarke hums happily against his chest and links his hand with hers, resting them on her stomach.

Her bump isn’t that visible as yet, Clarke herself still in her first trimester, but there is a definite curve to it, one that’s firm to the touch. It’s only been a few weeks since they learnt the news but his hands still tremble each time he reaches out to feel it.

Clarke shifts, tipping her head back to look at him and flashing him a tired smile. “We should have baths like this everyday,” she sighs, her thumb rubbing circles into the back of his hand absentmindedly.

He chuckles and kisses her temple. “Whatever the hell you want, Princess,” he murmurs as he moves his mouth across her jaw and then down the side of her neck, feeling the way her breath catches and pulse flutters under his touch. Her hips shift against him and he lets his teeth graze that spot on her neck.

His free hand gently squeezes her breast, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger and it gets a low groan out of her. Her eyelids flutter shut and she turns her head to give him even more access.

“What else do you want?” he asks, voice muffled as he continues teasing her neck.

“Hmm?”

“You said you want baths everyday. What else do you want everyday?” he clarifies as he untangles his hand from hers. 

“Foot rubs,” she tells him, her breath hitching as he employs the use of two hands now to play with her tits. “And back massages.”

He bites her collarbone with blunt teeth and her entire body jerks. “That can be arranged,” he says as he continues with his administrations, his touch light and teasing but still making her squirm and whimper. “Anything else?”

“Hmm.” She opens her legs wider and then drops her own hand to the centre of it. “Orgasms.”

Bellamy swears into the curve of her neck and just watches her as she trails a finger through her folds. Watching Clarke get herself off is possibly the hottest thing he’s ever seen, but he doesn’t usually have the patience or the willpower to sit idle by and let her do all the work.

He still doesn’t which is why after just a few moments of watching her, he bats her hands away. “Come on, babe, lemme do that,” he murmurs, teasing her. She’s hot and slick already and he groans. “You sit back and relax.”

She listens to him, a surprise. “You spoil me too much,” she hums and it gets a laugh out of her.

“Who else am I supposed to spoil?” he asks, slowly circling her clit with a finger. “You deserve it.”

He sets the pace, low and slow, just lightly teasing her clit until her body starts to shake and her moans grow louder. When she’s close, Clarke turns her head to the side, searching, and he kisses her, lazy and languid, just like his fingers down below, and when she comes, he swallows her groan of release.

They continue to trade sloppy kisses as she comes back down, all the way until Clarke sighs and pulls away, snuggling up against him.

“Definitely think this should be a daily thing. At least for the next couple of months,” she tells him, serious, and he laughs.

“Of course,” he says, brushing back the wet tendrils of hair that are sticking to her face and kissing her softly on the forehead.

Soon he’ll have to get out and finish up dinner for them to share, maybe spread an old blanket on the ground and eat outside under the stars and reminisce about their lives before. The night sky is always gorgeous, but for Bellamy it reminds him of the Ark and everything that went wrong up there, all the heartache and pain.

It’s been a long time though, and now that pain is nothing more than a dull ache in his chest, softening with each day.

How could it not when he finally has everything that he’s ever wanted.

He’s on the ground, breathing in fresh air and swimming in lakes and digging his hands into the earth. They’re at peace, any and all disputes with the clans settled leaving them at ease and never having to worry about watching over his shoulder. He has a house that he built and lives with the woman he loves, a woman who’s seen the worst of him and the best of him and still chooses to love him everyday.

Bellamy never gave much thought about his future, but never in his wildest dreams did he imagine it would be like  _ this _ .

He’s married to Clarke Griffin and they’re happy. She’s  _ pregnant _ and they’re happy. Bellamy never thought he’d get to be a father but here he is, listening to Clarke tell him that the baby is the size of a nectarine while the water grows cold around them.

He props his head up on her shoulder and holds her even closer, feeling nothing but warmth and contentment and  _ love _ flowing through his veins.

He’s happy. Here with his slowly growing family, he’s happy.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://hiddenpolkadots.tumblr.com/) | [writing twitter](https://twitter.com/twlghtstrgzgmt)


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